


running toward waves&thunderstorms

by ladykestrel



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: AU - Roaring Twenties, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykestrel/pseuds/ladykestrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she was sick of all the empty promises.</p>
<p>or; a roaring twenties au in which kestrel is tired of living life as she’s told to and decides to run toward a place where dreams are a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	running toward waves&thunderstorms

The soft whistle of jazz music decorated the air while the twinkling bright lights illuminated buildings like stars. Gentlemen and ladies alike strolled the rain-spattered streets in vibrant clothes and loud voices. Even puddles added to the glamour, appearing crystalline underneath the reflecting brightness. Kestrel felt like she was walking on liquid diamonds.

She did not have much baggage to carry, having taken only the necessities. The city was grand and welcoming, it would provide her with everything else.

It started drizzling, as it did seldom in the city, and passersby quickly retreated back into their respective choices of clubs for the night. Kestrel walked on, opting to enjoy the coolness of rain and the touch of water droplets on her skin. She’d not been free like this in years, she wanted to relish the feeling. Rushing ladies passed Kestrel, their fringed dresses swooshing, tickling her legs. The odd gentleman rushed by as well, each one slowing down enough to smile at Kestrel and tip the front of their hats. Kestrel smiled back. She walked until the drizzle became a downpour, then ducked into the nearest club to her.

The Broken Arm, as the club was called, was not a spectacle to look at out in front, but its inside was glowing with lights and beaming laughter. Packed with people, the floor seemed to come alive, while waiters side-passed wild dancers to deliver their orders. In one corner, gaming tables had been set up, cards spilling over their surfaces. The club was an explosion of feathers and sequins, lights and leather. Kestrel, with her long hair and plain travel clothes, doubtlessly stood out, a rock in a sea of gemstones. She carefully made her way, with her nearly hollow suitcase, to an vacant table. The club had live music, and Kestrel’s seat opposite the band. She looked over just when a man was walking up to the microphone, and started singing. His voice was mesmerizing, rooting Kestrel to her spot. She’d never heard a timber so beautiful, her mind was already reeling with the possibilities. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring at the singer so intensely until he turned, mid-performance, and locked his eyes with hers. He did not advert his gaze until the end. His song, along with his stare, took Kestrel worlds away, and suddenly all her troubles became cigarette smoke, released into the air. This was why Kestrel had come to the city. And this stranger had given her the solace she’d been seeking so purely though his voice.

A waiter came and Kestrel ordered a cocktail. And, because she was feeling adventurous, later, when she’d finished the drink, she stood up and danced.. It was still the man with the enchanting voice and steely gaze singing, and Kestrel further lost herself in the crowd, laughing and twirling along with the rhythm.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “You seem to be having a good time,” said a velvety voice. Kestrel turned and was met with a familiar shade of bright grey. Kestrel hadn’t even noticed when he’d gotten off the stage. “Care for a dance?” the singer asked. “Another one, that is.” She only giggled in response and led him deeper, into the heart of the dance floor.

“Do you ask all the ladies to dance?” Kestrel asked later.  


“Only the most special ones,” the man answered coyly.  


“I suppose I should be flattered,” Kestrel mused as she let him twirl her one last time before stepping off the dance podium. She turned to the singer. “Thank you.”  


“It was my pleasure.” He smiled brightly down at her. “I noticed you were all alone. Why don’t you join my friends and me over at our table?”  


“I might have accepted a dance, but I am not naive. We barely just met,” Kestrel said. “Actually, we haven’t met at all. I don’t even know your name.”  


“Arin,” the singer said quickly. “My name is Arin. There, now you know it.”  


“Oh, don’t look too smug now! I might know yours, but you do not know mine.”  


“Only because you have not yet offered it to me.”  


Kestrel smiled. She considered him, this stranger, whom she now knew the name of. “I’m Kestrel,” she said, at last.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, lovely Kestrel.” Arin took her hand and kissed it, as they were in a film. Kestrel felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Now, will you allow me to escort you to a better table and even better company?” Kestrel nodded and let him take the lead.

“So, what have you come here for? Any dreams you want to come true?” A friend of Arin’s, asked after Kestrel introduced herself to the table.  


“Pardon me?”   


“Sarsine,” Arin warned.  


“Take no offense, I mean none.” Sarsine waved a gloved hand. “People only come to the city for two things - in pursuit of an impossible dream they’d otherwise never be able to fulfill, or to quench a insatiable desire.”

“Are those not the same?”   


Sarsine puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Not in the slightest, darlin’. So, which one are you?”   


“Neither,” Kestrel replied. She noticed Arin’s slight smile out of the corner of her vision.  


“Ah, so you’re one of the runaways,” piped up a black-haired man from across the table. Kestrel had not quit caught his name and only knew he played the tube. “Let me tell you, the city life isn’t all that’s cracked up to be.”  


“Don’t listen to him,” Sarsine said. “Roshar is simply bitter he could not achieve his own dream.”

“I don’t plan on giving up just yet, Sarsine, honey. My big break awaits!”  


“It awaits us all, my friend, but not all of us are destined to catch it.”

“What are you running away from, little bird?” Roshar turned to Kestrel, changing the subject. Sarsine huffed at the man and continued to smoke her cigarette.  


Kestrel’s entire life had been a promise. Back home, the future had been certain and concrete, unshakable. She would have married Ronan, as her father wanted. She would have gone to university to learn how to be a wife, as her father wanted. She would settle down and start a family, as her father wanted. She had been promised a comfortable life, a safe one. As smooth as sailing across calm waters, her father had told her once.

But Kestrel dreamed of waves and thunderstorms. And she was sick of all the empty promises. “It’s not what I’m running away _from_ ,” she told Roshar and smiled. “It’s what I’m running _toward_.” And that was the moment, Kestrel realised, when her true life would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> +i do have ideas for continuing this piece, but we'll see;  
> +i'm sorry if the characters seem a little too ooc.


End file.
